


Rough Trade

by marzanna



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Breathplay, Breeding, Dogboy Gordon Freeman, Dry Humping, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Roughhousing, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzanna/pseuds/marzanna
Summary: “C’mon, don’t be a sore loser,” he says, tail thumping furiously on the ground. Gordon’s mouth curls up in a smug grin. “You can’t win ‘em all. That’s the Gordon motto.”“thought it was… live fast… smoke grass—”“Hey, a guy can have more than one motto.” He yanks just a little more, pressing them against one another in a blazing-hot line from head to tail.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 45
Kudos: 392





	Rough Trade

**Author's Note:**

> for the day 26 kinktober prompt: breeding. this is just pure pornography without any substance. i wrote this in like 4 days. or something. time is meaningless. sorry for this whole thing and for being like this

Gordon curls his arm just a little bit tighter, muscles like a vise against Benrey’s neck, and cackles when he hears Benrey wheeze. It’s all fun and games. Benrey doesn’t even— he doesn’t have to breathe, he’s pretty sure, so it’s all good. Benrey’s squirming under him, attempting to worm his legs around Gordon’s to go for a flip, but he’s at too awkward of an angle to make it work. Just to be safe, Gordon jams his knee up further, nearly kicking him in the balls. Which would have been funny. But not fair game. There’s a choked sound from underneath him.

“You give? Huh? Say uncle,” Gordon taunts.

He hears a rattling breath, and then Benrey squeezes out, “suck my dick,” and thrashes harder. Gordon barks with laughter.

His other arm clenches, too, wrenching Benrey closer. There’s bare skin under his fingers, hot and damp with sweat, and they dig into soft flesh. Hard enough that Gordon can feel his nails digging in, too. Hard enough to hurt. Benrey hisses and throws his head backward. Was he trying to headbutt him? Shitty attempt if Gordon’s ever seen one. It didn’t even come close.

“C’mon, don’t be a sore loser,” he says, tail thumping furiously on the ground. Gordon’s mouth curls up in a smug grin. “You can’t win ‘em all. That’s the Gordon motto.”

“thought it was… live fast… smoke grass—”

“Hey, a guy can have more than one motto.” He yanks just a little more, pressing them against one another in a blazing-hot line from head to tail.

 _Good_ , a voice whispers. It tickles the back of his skull. And it murmurs more sweet encouragements when Gordon sucks in a deep breath, smelling something rolling off of Benrey’s skin in waves. Out of curiosity, he buries his nose against the crook of Benrey’s neck. Benrey smells of salt, of sweat, a clean smell. There’s something earthy underneath. Heady. Something that makes Gordon feel hot under the collar. He grips tighter on reflex.

“Are you, uh.” Gordon’s breath comes too fast, making it hard to think straight. “Did you— are you wearing some kind of new cologne?”

“what?”

He rolls his eyes. “I said, cologne.”

“huh?”

“Are you— fucking God— are you wearing any?” He can’t help himself. He just keeps sniffing. Stupid fucking dog instincts. Makes him feel like a cartoon character floating along after the smell of a hamburger. (They did that, right?) Gordon nuzzles closer, and he realizes suddenly that the smell kind of… pulses. And the pulses are getting faster.

“uhh— no. what? why?” Benrey asks. He sounds irritated, almost.

He huffs, open-mouthed. All the better to figure out just what that smell is. “You smell so _good_ , man,” groans Gordon, voice lapsing into roughness against his will. It’s not fair. What _is_ that?

Benrey’s panting hard, too, but he’s stopped moving. When he swallows, Gordon hears it, clear as day. Feels… feels good. Feels really good. He wants to chase that feeling and hunt it down.

“yeah, well,” Benrey gasps in between thin, reedy breaths, “you, uhh, you smell like shit, dogboy.”

“Bullshit. I just showered today.” Gordon’s teeth nip at him. Not too hard. Just enough to prove a point. These new canines of his (ha, ha) are great for proving points.

Those waves swell and crest so intensely that Gordon has to shut his eyes to cope with it, tongue lolling out of his mouth as if he can taste it. Hell, when he drags it up the side of Benrey’s neck, he kind of _can_ \- he’s never been the best at taste tests, but there’s something electric-sour and faintly musky underneath the salt overtones. And when he’s this close, he can feel Benrey’s heartbeat under his tongue, rabbit-fast.

It hits him. Like a perfume. The scent’s studded by his heartbeat, those little pulses of warmth vaporizing those hormones that much faster off his skin. That motor buried deep in Gordon kickstarts again, excitement brimming through his arms and legs. So good. He should bottle whatever this is and sell it, because Gordon’s never smelled something that’s gotten to him quite like this.

He feels Benrey shift in his grip. Benrey’s legs, sliding against his again. But he’s not struggling. Not like Gordon expects him to.

“whoa. atta boy,” Gordon hears, raspy and breathless, and he stills abruptly. It’s only when he does that he realizes that he was moving. More specifically, his hips, in tight little motions against the small of Benrey’s back. Because he’s hard. He’s hard, and Benrey’s gasping and choking in his grasp, and the feeling of a warm, breathing body against his does more for him than any number of pilfered undershirts from Benrey’s laundry. Not that he would know.

His dick twitches against Benrey’s ass, once, twice, and Benrey laughs. Mortification drips down his skull. 

Shit. Jesus. He doesn’t— he’s better than this— he’s not a slave to his fucking instincts, okay, he’s a man, not a _dog._ The ears and the teeth notwithstanding. His tail slows in its constant wagging. For a moment, the only sound in the air is their heavy breathing, and Gordon doesn’t know what to do with himself. He should… extricate himself. From Benrey. And, like, the whole situation. But his fingers aren’t uncurling fast enough, and when the signals finally travel from his brain to his nervous system to his arms, Benrey grabs his wrist before he can finish the movement. Then he jams Gordon’s hand further up his shirt.

Gordon squeezes on instinct. Oh. That’s his chest. It’s soft and fuzzy. And Benrey makes a curious sound through his nose when he paws at it, his whole body arched against Gordon’s. His heart skips a beat. 

What is he doing? He’s lying on the fucking floor, covered in dirt, arms and legs wrapped around his frenemy - no, his _best_ frenemy, as he’s so often reminded - and groping his chest like it’s prom night and they’re tucked away in the back of a limo. Benrey doesn’t smell like a teenager’s selection of Bath and Body Works products, though. He smells like a cross between a sumptuous cut of meat and a buck in heat, and it’s a dangerous combination that sets Gordon to drooling. He’s not used to being able to smell it on somebody like this.

_Smell what?_

He curses that voice in the back of his head. Don’t make him think about it, don’t make him think about how much want he can smell on Benrey’s skin, about how some strange part of his brain can make out just how much Benrey wants to be squeezed and scruffed and okay, yep, that’s his hips moving again. God damn it.

“Shit, sorry, I—”

“good boy.”

Benrey’s voice is so hoarse and so very close to his ear that it makes him shiver, and his pupils dilate. So it wasn’t a joke. It’s always so hard to tell with this guy.

Half of him, the human half, probably, tells him that should ask what in the fuck Benrey’s playing at here. But the less-human half tells him that, well, he’s being a good boy, right? Chase that high. Do it again. Tentatively rub his dick against the crease in Benrey’s sweatpants, but deliberate and purposeful this time. Seal his fate, because now he can’t hide behind the tepid excuse of ‘instinct’, not anymore. Gordon rocks his hips against Benrey’s again, still uncertain, until Benrey moans aloud, and he can feel the sound of it through Benrey’s chest more than he hears it.

A desperate whimper punches out of Gordon despite his best efforts to tamp it down. His face burns as it does.

God, it’s, it’s what he’s been thinking about for weeks, every time they wrestle each other to the ground and snap and snarl at each other. Every time he flops to the ground afterward, exhausted and blissfully devoid of thought and, despite his best intentions, hard as a rock. The arm that isn’t currently bent around Benrey’s neck in a chokehold starts to wander. Just like his mind. So much of Benrey is soft, nice to grab, even with all that dense muscle lurking underneath. His stomach is no exception. Gordon squeezes him impossibly tighter, feeling that soft flesh give under his fingers, and he starts rutting against Benrey’s ass in earnest as his breath comes out in ragged pants.

Good. It’s so good. That infernal motor ramps up. His tongue darts out to lick at the corner of Benrey’s jaw, then down to his neck again, and Benrey shifts again in response. Lifting his leg so that Gordon’s can slot between his more easily. Blood rushes to his head, dizzying him. There’s not an inch of space between them, and yet, somehow, Gordon still wants to be closer. Like if he just humps Benrey’s fucking leg hard enough, he’ll get there. Frustration worms its way out of his mouth in a quiet growl.

“whassa matter, boy,” Benrey says, barely audible when he’s having the life choked out of him. Gordon relaxes his hold a little. Just to hear what he has to say next. “lil’ timmy fall into a well? huh?”

He tightens his grip again. Benrey squeaks and scrabbles his fingers against Gordon’s arm. Fucking Benrey. Won’t be as easy to talk shit if Gordon’s got him pinned to the floor, he thinks, and he rolls them so that Benrey’s lying on his stomach underneath him. Crushed flat against the ground by Gordon’s full weight. Something in the back of his head tells him this is a really, really good idea. His dick’s telling him the same thing, where it’s pressed firmly between Benrey’s cheeks.

Gordon moves his hips again, the fabric of his jeans rough against his skin, and Benrey lets out, “ohhh, fuck,” voice pitched low in a way that gets Gordon unbearably hot.

“Good?” It slips out of him before he can think about it.

He feels a hand clapping at his arm. The universal signal of ‘I give’. His body is screaming at him not to let Benrey out from under him, for reasons he has steadily avoided digging too far into, but he did say he’d let go if Benrey would just say uncle. So Gordon unhooks his arm from around Benrey’s throat and rises up on his knees. The way Benrey’s chest heaves with a shuddering breath makes him sweat, in spite of the anxiety starting to bubble up in his own.

“I— Sorry, Jesus, I thought— thought it was fine— oh my God, I knew this was a stupid idea, I shouldn’t have—”

“calm down maybe,” interrupts Benrey. Easier said than done. But Benrey’s not making any moves to crawl out from under him - in fact, he’s raising his hips, maneuvering himself to rest on elbows and knees, torso nearly flat against the floor, and it clicks. He’s. He’s _presenting_ himself.

Gordon’s mouth goes dry for a moment. His hands slowly approach Benrey’s hips, sliding under the fabric of his t-shirt to grab hold of him. How does his skin feel so soft here? It’s something he’d always wondered on those off-chances that he copped a feel (on accident, mind you). He shakes his head rapidly. This is giving him heart palpitations, and he can’t decide whether to feel anxious, embarrassed, irritated with himself, or… He throbs again, trapped in his pants. Or that last thing.

The adrenaline and that sweet endorphin high make Gordon’s hands shake as he shoves Benrey’s shirt as far up as he can get it. His mouth parts, and he licks his lips to wet them. Why do the sharp, smooth lines of Benrey’s back make him feel so fucking— so overwhelmed with— He can’t put his finger on it. Some kind of hunger. They’re pleasantly dense, hills and valleys of muscle waiting to be touched and bitten. Culminating in organic dunes where his shoulders are bunched up, into the delta of his neck.

A presence tugs at the back of his head.

“c’monnn,” Benrey groans impatiently as he cranes his head around, “know you been— i know you been thinkin’ about it. ‘m not stupid… i see you with your, uhhh, poppin’ your dick out all the time. lil’ puppy man, sick lil’ puppy boy— oh, shit. that's it. good boy.” 

He’s leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands and bracketing Benrey with his arms before pressing his hips against Benrey’s ass again. Benrey tries to look up at him, but there’s only so far his head can turn under normal circumstances. A droplet of sweat trickles down Gordon’s forehead and falls onto Benrey’s neck.

Gordon rolls his hips, once. Benrey sucks in a sharp breath and arches into it. Then again. “Oh my God,” he whispers, incredulous.

Is he really getting away with this? Tension builds in his shoulders as he waits for the other shoe to drop. Sick prank on Gordon Freeman, tricking him into dry humping Benrey for laughs. Any second now, their friends are gonna walk in on him fruitlessly trying to make Benrey his bitch, and he’ll never be able to live it down. But those seconds keep ticking, and Gordon keeps grinding in slow, deliberate motions, and Benrey keeps letting out quiet sounds that make his blood boil. Gordon’s head falls between his shoulders. Then he lowers himself down on his arms, making them a beast with one back, his long, long limbs overtaking Benrey’s shorter ones. Benrey takes the weight so well, thighs as sturdy as tree trunks as Gordon ruts against him in a full-body motion.

He says something, but it’s muffled into the crook of his arm, and Gordon’s got too much static in his ears besides. It feels too fucking _good_. Every bone in his body is telling him to move, fuck Benrey stupid, bury himself to the hilt and show him who’s on top. Make him howl. Gordon’s having a hard time accomplishing the finer details of that, though, and he’s too lost in the moment to figure out the next step. Too busy listening to the stilted moans Benrey’s letting out not inches away from him.

_Look at him. He wants this. He wants you to mount him like a filthy fucking animal. That’s what you are, aren’t you, you sick little creature - you wanna bite him and mark him and breed him and he’d let you, even, he’d beg you for it, look, he’s doing it right now. Just for you._

When Gordon comes back down to Earth, yeah, Benrey _is_ begging right now, isn’t he, quick, nasal pleas with his eyes wrenched shut. While his arm shuffles jerkily underneath him. The sudden realization makes Gordon buck harder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“yeah, god,” Benrey whines, “good— good boy, keep goin’, i wanna— hang on, uhh—”

“Huh?” He slows, confused, and when he does, he spies Benrey attempting to tug his sweatpants down to his knees. That… would help, wouldn’t it. Gordon lifts himself up enough to let him, and to fumble open his own zipper to ease some of the agonizing pressure.

An ugly sound rips out of him as he pulls his waistband down enough for his dick to pop out from under it. It’s flushed a dark red and slick at the tip, and it contrasts nicely with the pale, somewhat sallow skin that’s revealing itself in front of him. Gordon lets his dick come to rest between the swell of Benrey’s cheeks, then slaps it against them a few times. Like, why, though? It’s not like he’s ever had the inclination to do that kind of thing before. But it feels nice. Feels right. He rubs it there experimentally, and the feeling’s so much better than chafing against his fucking jeans that he moans aloud.

“what, you like that or sumn?”

Gordon nods quickly, then realizes that Benrey can’t see him that well from this angle, so he says out loud, “Jesus Christ, you have no idea.” Just to prove his point, he grabs hold of Benrey’s ass and squeezes. And he keeps rolling his hips, marveling in just how soft Benrey feels there.

“coulda… coulda done it sooner. any time. gordon freeman free-for-all on benrey’s ass. 1-800-fuck-me-please,” Benrey says, breathless.

The laugh that erupts from him borders on hysterical. “You’re not making this any easier on me, man! I’m having, like, five different crises right now—”

“what?”

“I think I might be bisexual,” Gordon blurts out, while he’s in the middle of enthusiastically hotdogging his very male best friend.

“no shit, brain genius.” He can feel the eye roll even if he can’t see it. “fuck around and find out maybe?”

“That’s what I thought I was doing!”

“no, uhhh… dial that number,” insists Benrey.

“What are you _ever_ talking about—”

“i’m telling you to— fuck— fuck me in the ass, idiot.”

“Wait, what? Like, right now? I don’t have any idea what I’m doing here, Benrey, I can barely think straight,” he moans, head hanging between his shoulders again.

Right now all he can think about is chasing that friction, snapping his hips forward mindlessly until he spills all over Benrey’s ass, and man, wouldn’t that be a sight. The thought alone makes something jerk low in his stomach. He could rub his thumb in it, rub it into Benrey’s skin until there’s nothing left—

“just, fuckin’, put your dick in me, man. it’s not particles or whatever. not like itunes. you need to be a NASA scientist or something to figure out how to use an itunes,” Benrey says, knocking him out of that train of thought. “i’m all, plug-n-play right now.”

Gordon stills for a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“why you always gotta be so mean? quit complaininggg. got me all, wrapped up here, like a nice lil’ present. do a little inspection. sherlock this shit.”

He’s still not certain just what it is Benrey’s trying to tell him, but he’s lifting his hips encouragingly, and Gordon thinks he gets the hint. Benrey wants him to… look? “Okay, well, don’t yell at me if I do something stupid. I already told you,” he complains.

The one thing he is certain of is that if there’s a way for him to fuck something up, he will definitely find it. But, you know, if Benrey’s presenting himself so nicely, it’s only fair for him to buck up and… inspect. It’s half curiosity and half unfettered instinct that drives Gordon to spread Benrey open. What could he possibly be - oh. What. What _is_ that? He’s already got something inside of him, something simple and black with a curious, matte texture, and whatever Gordon wanted to say next dies on his lips.

“told you. plug-n-play.”

“Oh my God.” Exasperation and shock tint his voice in equal measures. “Were you… planning for this?”

“uhhh, yeah? what’s the big deal.”

What’s the big deal? Gordon’s mind reels. Only, like, everything, he thinks aggressively, but he can’t sort any of it out long enough to say it. Multiple realizations bombard him at once. So that’s what that potent smell was, the smell of Benrey very clearly having jerked himself off earlier while he was putting this plug in. While Benrey was thinking about him. Can’t have been more than an hour before. And he’s never done something quite like this before, either. Gordon would have smelled it on him if he had. How long was Benrey thinking about this?

“i dunno. you started it,” he hears Benrey say, and that’s when he realizes he's voiced that particular thought aloud. “all, wrestlin’ with me all the time, poppin’ boners and shit. how long have _you_ been thinkin’ about it, huh.”

“I dunno,” Gordon repeats distantly. Thinking too hard about this is making his head hurt. He gets the picture, is the important thing, and his dick tells him that it would be a smart idea for him to get that plug out. _So you can get in._ Naturally. So he does, gingerly gripping it by the base and tugging.

Benrey groans under him, encouraging him to pull harder. It’s… surprisingly big, and it comes out clean and slick, leaving Benrey’s hole open and ready and waiting and Jesus Christ, he’s never had these kinds of thoughts grip him like this before. That strange hunger in the pit of his belly flares to life again. How many times has Benrey fingered himself open, thinking about Gordon? There’s no way this was the first time. He knows what he’s doing, obviously. Gordon runs his thumb across it, pushes it in on impulse, and feels his heartrate spike when Benrey shivers.

“c’mon, quit staring man. it’s weird.” He’s whining a little.

“Okay. Okay, I— God. I’m gonna do it,” Gordon says, psyching himself up as much as he is Benrey. “I’m gonna. Just, um, tell me if this is,” he can’t even finish that sentence because he’s lining up his dick and pushing in, and God, there’s tight, slick heat all around him, and he whines hard as he buries himself inside Benrey. It’s so satisfying. Makes him want to lick his teeth.

“shit,” mutters Benrey dizzily. “that’s— oh, fuckin’, home run, buddy, go for the gold—”

Benrey trails off in a yelp as Gordon leans down to wrap his arms around his chest, forcing himself balls-deep in one swift motion. Gordon can’t help himself - feels natural to have him like this, right where he wants him, pinned underneath him, skin to skin - he immediately starts rutting like a dog, panting at Benrey’s neck again, high noises whistling through his nose. His tail comes to life behind him.

"Oh God, Benrey," he groans, mouth pressed against skin damp with sweat. His teeth scrape against it. One of life's little tests. "Am I— Is it—"

"'s good, it's real good, you're doin'— oh fuck— harder, c'mon, just like that," Benrey encourages him in between gasps of air.

A roiling heat builds and builds between Gordon's legs, and he chases it mindlessly, spurred on by all those throaty sounds Benrey's letting out as Gordon fucks him into the ground. Those desperate pleas for more, to keep going, he's doing so good - ordinarily, he couldn't give two shits about whether or not Benrey likes what he's doing, but right now every little bit of praise goes straight to his head. He wants to be good. He wants to take what he's been given. He wants to give it back in equal measure, his hands pawing at Benrey's chest and stomach and dick as he ruts.

For a moment, there's only the sound of wordless moans and skin rapidly slapping against skin. Then Gordon growls, finding that he can't resist the urge. Benrey's neck's right there, so pale and tempting, and he clamps down on the collar of Benrey's shirt with his teeth, yanking upward. The choked whimper Benrey lets out goes straight to his belly.

“Gonna come, gonna come,” he whines against the back of Benrey's neck, muffled by fabric. Gordon’s legs tremble from the effort of trying to slow himself, but it’s so hard. They’re burning, dying to keep chasing that feeling, but he can’t. He shouldn’t. He should have backed out awhile ago, spared himself the embarrassment, but the thought of fucking Benrey properly after all these weeks of dancing around it? Too much. Shouldn’t have listened to his stupid dick. He tries to listen to it a little less and loosens his jaw, letting Benrey free.

“c’mon, do it,” Benrey gasps, “you won’t—”

“I-I _can’t_. It’s not— it’s gonna be weird, man, you’re not gonna like it!”

“don’t care. just do it, fuckin’, come in me, make me your lil’ bitch— oh fuck!” His voice cracks on the last word, taken aback by the force of Gordon’s hips slamming into his.

Gordon pants, loud and harsh and so, so fast, fogging up the small space between Benrey’s neck and Gordon’s face. “It’s gonna be _so_ fucking weird, I’m not gonna be able to stop, Benrey, I— I can’t stop, I’m, I wanna come in you so bad, oh my God—”

“do it,” Benrey cuts him off, not so much speaking as groaning continuously with syllables sprinkled in occasionally. His arm moves faster and faster underneath him. “c’mon, thassa good boy. come for benrey? best friend benrey?”

Heat surges through Gordon’s blood. He can’t just— can’t just say things like that, not right now, not when he can’t still his hips. Best friend. Best friend Benrey. Gordon buries his nose in the nape of Benrey’s neck and growls again as he clutches Benrey even tighter to him. That little thought loops in his head, over and over. It’s scratching a satisfying itch in the back of his mind. He wants to scratch it harder. _His_ best friend.

His. His. Benrey’s gonna be all his, gonna be able to smell it on him, gonna come in him and make him his. It beats in his head like a drum. Then it spills out of his mouth in a desperate whimper, “Mine,” not fucking, Josh’s or whatever, his friend Josh from GameStop doesn’t get to do this, Gordon would be able to smell it on him. He knows. That tart, electric smell of sex on his skin is something new. Tension winds itself tight in his spine, dancing closer and closer to snapping.

“’m yours,” he hears through the rush of blood in his skull, “fuck, gordon, ‘m all yours, good boy, good boy—”

It’s snapping— oh God, it’s snapping— Gordon whines hard in Benrey’s ear as his hips snap faster and faster, fucking him with wild abandon, chasing it, all his. All his. He’s a good boy, Benrey wants him to do this, and instinct overcomes his overwhelming humiliation for a brief moment, and Gordon cries out as he comes, burying his dick as deep as it’ll go. It twitches with it. Benrey’s voice pitches high and cracks again in the middle of a groan, as if it caught him by surprise. 

Energy drains from him in one vacuous rush, and he collapses on Benrey’s back. His hips residually jerk forward in weak, staccato movements. Oh, Christ, he can feel it - that alien sensation at the base of his dick, that swelling, this fucking unpleasant thing that all but assures he can never get another girlfriend again, the thing he _warned_ Benrey about, he thinks helplessly as he hears Benrey make a strange sound underneath him.

“wuhh— whoa, what?”

“I told you it was gonna be weird,” Gordon whines, exhausted.

Benrey attempts to shift his hips, then mumbles, “oh shit.” He’s figured out that he’s stuck tight by Gordon’s knot. Which is a thing that he has now, apparently, because G-Man has some serious problems. Fucking, forcibly Nintendogging him or whatever, Gordon still doesn't know what that was about. All he knows is that he never wants to hear the words "Baja Blast" again if he can help it.

"Sorry, man. Stuck like this for awhile."

"well, fuckin'… get offa me. you’re heavy. gordon freeman’s massive wagon claiming another victim,” he says.

“I already said we’re— wait, hold on. Got an idea.” Gordon feels unreasonably pleased with himself as he rolls Benrey to the side, holding him close from behind and nuzzling sleepily into Benrey’s neck.

The motion tugs at them, where they’re linked, and it gets Benrey to make a curious noise. Then he kind of… shifts. Tight, jerky movements, mirroring Gordon’s from earlier. Gordon jerks, sensitive, and Benrey’s hand fumbles backward at his sides.

“do it again,” Benrey tells him, voice hoarse, “please? thank you?”

Blood rushes to Gordon’s face. Oh. Right. Benrey hasn’t gotten off yet. And here he is, about to pass out with his dick still inside him. The least he can do is play nice and help a guy out, right? So he does as Benrey asks - and, God, he asks so nicely - and pushes his hips flush against Benrey’s ass. Feels Benrey tug at his knot as he draws back, just a little. He can’t get very far, but it seems to be good enough, judging by the way Benrey moans into the open air.

“please,” he asks again, “c’mon, touch me, do somethin’, don’t leave me hangin’—”

“Gotcha,” Gordon huffs into his ear.

He barely has two brain cells to rub together right now, but being told what to do helps. One of his hands drifts towards Benrey’s dick and wraps around it, tugging it to full hardness again, and it’s not long after that before Benrey’s babbling his name and thanking him and - and - Oh God, Benrey clenches so tightly around him that Gordon stops breathing for a moment, and he lets out a wail as he comes all over Gordon’s hand. Then he sags in Gordon’s arms.

Gordon licks at Benrey’s neck, his jaw, his face, anywhere he can get, really, while his body surges with endorphins. He’s pleased as punch, and Benrey seems content to let him have at it, his breath coming hard and heavy despite his lack of need for it. Gordon’s tail thumps against the floor. God, he’s so warm. So nice to squeeze tight. Smells so good, smells like Gordon. Satisfaction curls up in his gut as his eyes drift closed, and he’s not sure he would move even if he could.

Especially not when Benrey mumbles, “good boy, who’s a good boy,” as he drifts off himself.


End file.
